


love in times of group activities

by saltedmoon



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), M/M, also known as caleb's gay struggle, meet cute 2.0, molly works at a renaissance faire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 23:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14628969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltedmoon/pseuds/saltedmoon
Summary: “You know, Molly? Mollymauk, my friend from the Renaissance Faire?” She’s punctuating every question mark with a jab of her fingers at Caleb’s forearm, head tilted with a smidge of concern. “I’m pretty sure you’ve met him before and nothing bad happened!”





	love in times of group activities

**Author's Note:**

> me: im gonna write cheesy widomauk  
> my gremlin brain: so here's caleb&jester fwiendship

The tug of the hairbrush is more delicate than Caleb would have anticipated as Jester combs her way through the “practically a nasty bird nest practically” that appears to be his hair. There’s a distinct lack of flower-braiding since Nott’s away for the weekend visiting the mysterious someone she still won’t tell anyone about, but the nail of Caleb’s left ring finger is spotting a colorful array of dots arranged in the shape of a painted daisy. For good luck, she said. Not that he would need any luck in his own opinion, nor a poorly disguised babysitter dragging him out of the house on a no longer peaceful Saturday evening he had every intention of spending reading his newest findings because who knows what might good ol’ Caleb get up to if left to his own devices for a few days, but after years of mulishly refusing any equally stubborn attempt his friends would make at taking care of him he’d like to think he’s learnt how to just— accept friendship-y things.

They’ve already had dinner earlier, which means that as soon as Jester’s done disciplining his nasty bird nest (giving up on it and letting him have his not so carefully disheveled look is not an option for her, of course) she’s already gently coaxing him into his jacket and nudging him towards the door without missing a beat.

“It’s going to be so much fun!” she repeats for the sixth time since she’s barreled into Caleb’s place a couple hours prior. “We’ll découpage the _shit_ out of that wood, Caleb, it’s our destiny and it shines before us in a halo of glitter. Oh, also, Molly’s gonna be there with us!”

That, out of the sheer, unbridled energy he’s been subjected to so far, does manage to give him pause for a brief moment. He tries to cover it with an impromptu cough and pretends to have trouble with the keys as he locks the door behind him, willing his shoulders to go from the stiff stance of mild alarm to the easy slope of perfectly in control of the situation: obviously Jester sees right through it with an acumen that’d almost feel cruel in any other person.

“You know, Molly? Mollymauk, my friend from the Renaissance Faire?” She’s punctuating every question mark with a jab of her fingers at Caleb’s forearm, head tilted with a smidge of concern. “I’m pretty sure you’ve met him before and nothing bad happened!”

 _Yet_ , he can’t help but think, although he’s wise enough to keep this specific foreboding flushed to his chest. It’s not like he’s got any grief with Jester’s friend, that’d be ridiculous considering their only encounter up until now has been only shallow pleasantries and a lot of gawking from Caleb’s end of the stick as Molly, armed of two wooden swords and an entirely too flashy coat, proceeded to teach a bunch of excitable kids how to dual wield without smacking each other in the face. No, the issue at hand runs deeper, it’s rooted in the still vivid memory of Molly’s playfulness, the angle of Molly’s jaw, the solid red of Molly’s eyes— that is to say, the only problem is Caleb’s ineptitude at romance and consequential infatuation with someone who likely didn’t even catch his name last time they met.

“We have indeed been introduced,” he concedes once it’s apparent Jester won’t stop prodding him unless placated. He reaches out to pat her head lightly, the established nonverbal sign between them to communicate he’s weird-fine and not, say, weird-dissociating, then allows himself a sigh of relief at the sight of her car. At least they won’t have to take the bus.

 

***

 

The first thing he notices upon entering the room is that, thank the Gods, most of the people attending are adults, with the occasional yet rare children in tow. It seems to be a genuine social gathering designed for his demographic, which is never a given when Jester’s involved, and Caleb lets himself unwind by a fraction. The second thing he notices is a very, _very_ tall woman sitting at one of the tables wearing an expression that conveys just how cramped it must feel for her to be sitting at one of the cute yet definitely not tall enough tables, right next to—

“Molly!” Jester almost yells, launching herself in the direction of the table and dragging Caleb by the arm in a mortifying display of delightful eagerness. He’s used to it, overexposure has long finished turning his wariness into adoration, but he can’t help the need to run his thumb over the nail polish daisy like a good luck charm as he forces himself to look up and at the people sitting in front of him.

“My dearest,” Molly’s saying to Jester, making a show of bringing her hand to his lips as she snorts from her nose. Then his gaze shifts to Caleb and, oh, that’s. That sure is a thing that’s happening. “Caleb, right? You were helping with the light show at the Faire, absolutely fantastic work! Oh, but where are my manners, here.” He puts one hand on the tall woman’s shoulder. “This beauty here is my friend and colleague, Yasha.”

To his credit, Caleb manages to juggle the three distinct emotional jenga towers of Molly remembering his name, being paid a compliment and meeting someone new with a passable amount of grace and only stammers for a second before mumbling his thanks and a “nice to meet you” Yasha reciprocates with equal fumbling on her part. It makes him feel already some kind of tepid sympathy, room temperature sympathy someone’s left out of the fridge on a summer day. Good job, Nott, your flask’s not a thermos.

“Caleb?” Jester’s looking at him with the face of someone who might have asked him a question without getting anything in response and Caleb has to resist the urge to drag his hand across his face because way to make sure everyone at the table knows he’s got the attention span of a fly when he’s not focused on reading or braiding Nott’s hair.

“ _Ja_ , my friend?” he asks, trying to act nonchalant. Jester shoots him one last unconvinced look but the enthusiasm must have won her inner struggle because she doesn’t waste time shoving a plain wooden… something under his nose.

“It’s time to start découpaging! Molly and Yasha have already started on theirs, we can’t fall behind!”

“This isn’t really a competition…” poor Yasha tries to clarify, but Jester’s already started leafing through the selection of decorative paper at their disposal and that’s when Caleb realizes that not only Molly’s sitting next to him, but he’s covered in a caked mixture of glue, paper confetti and tiny golden stars up to his elbows, where the rolled up sleeves of his cardigan (no less ostentatious than the coat, somehow) seem to threaten to unfold and win a ticket straight to the least pleasant laundry experience of the century. Molly appears to be blissfully unaffected by such a trivial scenario, if he’s taken time to consider it at all.

“So,” he drawls as Caleb tries to redirect his efforts towards picking up appropriate decorations for his and Jester’s project, “fancy meeting you here.”

The end of his tail flicks from where he’s curled it loosely around his waist and _that_ seems to catch Jester’s attention, because her eyes go wide as saucers for a second before she grits her teeth and makes the tiefling equivalent of a stifled screech, which, even curbed, sounds pretty bloodcurdling from up close. “Don’t you dare, you filthy cheater, _you_! Caleb! Don’t let him distract you!”

“Huh?” Caleb, thoroughly distracted, says at the same time as Molly giggles in the face of danger. He’s still looking at Caleb from the corner of his eye.

“All’s fair game in love and war, _sskhjk_.” And, okay, maybe that was a term of endearment in Infernal, or maybe Jester’s found a way to stomp on Molly’s feet from under the table and he’s just hissed in pain. Caleb wouldn’t know, but he tries to memorize the apparent sequence of consonants anyway; he might ask Jester about it later, or surprise Molly if by some kind of miracle they meet again after tonight and he’s feeling foolish enough.

“Moreover, can’t a guy flirt a bit over some découpage?” Molly adds, and Caleb manages to send flying a cloud of glitter all over them with an undignified coughing fit.

“Our _destiny_!” Jester wails, but Molly’s laughing so hard he might inhale something. By the time they’re done he’s slipped Caleb a piece of paper: there’s a number on it and a shiny, plastic heart glued in a corner.

 


End file.
